


A Collection of Zimbits Christmas Ficlets

by writingonpostcards



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Gift Giving, Holidays, M/M, Pillow & Blanket Forts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-21 20:54:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13151853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingonpostcards/pseuds/writingonpostcards
Summary: Each chapter is titled with the prompt that inspired it. Cross-posted from Tumblr.Chapter 1:“You know there are only 12 days of Christmas, hun, and they start on the twenty-fifth.”Chapter 2:Bitty doesn’t think he’s doing anything wrong, troublesome, life-threatening, embarrassing or otherwise out of the ordinary.Chapter 3:“You know, bruh, my mum always says the cure for a broken heart is wallowing and whiskey.”Chapter 4:Bitty feels like crying. His throat hurts and his eyes are watering and every time he breathes it’s this little hic-hic shake of air into him.Chapter 5:“This really does seem like a lot of hooplah,” Bitty tells Jack again as the blanket he’s been supporting falls onto his head.Chapter 6:“Must be a Sunday,” Bitty says as he holds the paper towel to Jack’s finger.





	1. Gift Exchange

**Author's Note:**

> written for [OMGCP Winter Extravaganza](https://omgcpwinterextravaganza.tumblr.com/)

“You know there are only 12 days of Christmas, hun, and they start on the twenty-fifth,” Bitty mumbles sleepily, dragging his body upright to lean against the headboard.

“Just got excited, eh,” Jack says without guilt, sitting by Bitty’s legs and holding out a small wrapped gift to Bitty with a joyful smile.

“How long have you been up?”

“I made waffles,” Jack provides as an answer.

Bitty snorts out a gust of air. “Quite a while while then.”

“Hey, I’m not _that_ bad.”

“Not bad, just slow. And messy,” Bitty adds, wiping a patch of flour off Jack’s shirt.

Jack captures his wrist and pulls his hand up to kiss Bitty’s palm then play bite at his fingertips.

“Alright, alright.” Bitty smiles at Jack.

Jack maneuvers Bitty’s hand so it’s lying flat and puts the present into it. He drops his hand down on Bitty’s thigh as Bitty eyes the small, red-wrapped box.

“Should I guess what it is?”

Jack shrugs. “If you want.”

Bitty bites his lip and shakes the present gently by his ear. It doesn’t make much noise, only a very faint _thud_ if he holds it really close. It’s the size of a jewellery box, though Bitty’s sure it’s not that.

“Is there anything in here?” The box is very light, lighter than an egg even.

“Yes,” Jack says, watching Bitty happily.

Bitty narrows his eyes at Jack. “It’s not a clue or something, is it? Like a treasure hunt,” Bitty asks, remembering last Christmas.

Jack shakes his head. “Maybe you should just open it.”

Bitty takes care unwrapping the present. Under the paper is a plain, unmarked box. Bitty lifts his head back to Jack, who he’s surprised to find is blushing slightly.

With some trepidation, he wiggles the lid off the box. Inside is a pad of post-it notes which Bitty tips out onto his lap. They’re pink and heart-shaped, and seeing them makes Bitty’s heart do a little somersault in his chest.

“Are these for my notes to you?”

Jack’s still blushing when Bitty looks up. He clears his throat and nods. “Yeah. I thought they’d be… cute.”

“They are,” Bitty assures Jack, peeling the top post-it note off to stick on Jack’s flushed cheek. “Almost as cute as you,” he adds.

Jack laughs happily and peels his own post-it note to stick on Bitty’s chest over his heart.


	2. Where a man is saved by a voice in the distance

Bitty doesn’t think he’s doing anything wrong, troublesome, life-threatening, embarrassing or otherwise out of the ordinary. It’s why he doesn’t stop when a voice shouts out, “No! Stop! Don’t!”

He doesn’t _ignore_ the voice though, because that would be rude. But first, he finishes sitting down on the wooden bench like he planned, and _after_ completing that he diverts his attention to trying to find the owner of the voice.

It helps him by sounding again. One single resigned swear-word floats to Bitty’s ears coming from the direction of a clump of bushes beside the bench upon which he sits. He admits to thinking for a second, ‘that bush is talking to me’ before remembering he’s not in Narnia or the like.

He squints into the bush looking for a person and manages to find a flash of blue among the greenery. “Hello?” he asks to be sure.

A hand pushes itself out of the bushes. Unsure what else to do, Bitty shakes it. It’s a nice hand–-warm and quite large.

“I did try to stop you,” the voice tells Bitty.

“Stop me from what?” Bitty asks, trying still to find a figure in the bush.

The hand draws away and in it’s place an entire human steps out of the shrub. There are a number of things to note about this. Firstly, how strange it is for someone to step out of a plant. Second, that that person is male, around Bitty’s age, and very attractive. Three, that the shrub has left a good amount of leaves on this man. And finally, four, that there is a large paint stain on the man’s back and thighs.

Bitty looks from the paint on the man’s jacket and jeans to the bench. Then he looks again. Then one final time to make certain before he lets his shoulders slump.

“Oh damn,” he says.

“Yes,” the guys adds in commiseration, frowning along with Bitty.

“Thank you for trying anyway,” Bitty tells him, feeling a little blue to match the paint on him.

“You’re welcome,” the man says.

“I suppose that was why you were hiding in the bush?”

“I wasn’t hiding,” the man refutes immediately.

“You weren’t?” Bitty says in surprise.

“Actually, I was. I don’t know why I said I wasn’t. What are you doing?” The man adds in confusion at the end, for Bitty has starting plucking leaves off his clothing.

“You look liked you rolled in a leaf pile,” Bitty explains.

“Right. I probably shouldn’t have gone into the bush with wet paint on my back. Am I totally covered?” The man cranes his neck to look over his shoulder.

“Turn round,” Bitty instructs. The man does so. “It’s not so bad.” Bitty goes back to picking off leaves and a silence settles between them.

“Do you think if I sit here long enough the paint will dry back onto the bench?” Bitty voices his thoughts.

“I think that’d be tedious,” the man replies, “and that you’d still have paint on your clothes.”

“That is a good point.”

Silence resumes.

“Still,” the man says, once again craning his neck. This time, it’s clear his gaze is not seeking the leaves affixed to his back, but rather, the man (Bitty) pulling them off. “It might not be so bad with the right company.”

Bitty holds the man’s gaze for a moment before deciding that he trusts that small, sweet smile and (so far) well-meant intentions. He pats the seat beside him then regrets it as his fingers pull away blue and sticky. The man sits down by him, close enough that knocking knees is not a foregone conclusion. It makes the paint on Bitty’s fingers more bearable in the sense that he’s not thinking about it at all, and instead is thinking about a pair of beautiful blue eyes.

“I’m Jack,” the man says, holding out his hand again.

“Bitty,” Bitty says shaking it for a second time and thinking to himself that it’s so much better now that Jack is a man and not a bush with a hand.


	3. It’s the season of possible miracle cures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This chapter features Shitty, which will become obvious at the first line (I hope).

“You know, bruh, my mum always says the cure for a broken heart is wallowing and whiskey.” Shitty shakes the bottle in front of Jack’s face.

Jack moves it away from him. “Shits, I’ve met your mother. She does not say that.”

“Damn, I forgot.” Shitty tables the alcohol and plonks himself beside Jack on the couch. “You could try her actual advice?”

“No way,” Jack says, shaking his head furiously.

“Yep. That’s what I thought,” Shitty mutters, swinging his legs over Jack’s. It’d be annoying if not for how comforting Jack finds the weight.

“So let’s back up and reflect for a hot sec.” Shitty wiggles inelegantly until he’s properly sitting on Jack’s lap. 

Jack sighs. “We’ve already done that.”

“Correction; _you’ve_ already done that. I haven’t heard why your heart is in all these pieces and you called me. So, Jacky.” He grabs the sides of Jack’s head and pulls their faces close. “Play-by-play. Gimme it.”

“Only after you get off my lap,” Jack informs Shitty.

Shitty smiles then launches himself onto the floor at Jack’s feet. Jack rolls his eyes. He reaches past Shitty for the bottle of whiskey, uncaps it, and swallows down a good few mouthfuls before Shitty can pick his jaw off the floor and take it off him.

“Dude, thought you were going to tell me stuff,” he accuses.

Jack burps. “Yeah, after this.”

Shitty salutes Jack and takes his own swig of whiskey, coughing inelegantly afterwards and passing the bottle back to Jack.

_\- - - some time and many drinks later - - -_

“Bitty?” Shitty yells, dragging himself upright using the couch liberally as a crutch. “What the helling-fuck are you doing here?”

“I live here,” Bitty reminds him gently, taking off his jacket and scarf. “How wasted are the two of you?”

Jack smiles dopily at Bitty and blows him a kiss, getting a “hey, sweetpea” in return.

Shitty’s eyes boggle as he looks between them. “What? You. Him. _Jack_.” Shitty points a judgemental finger at Jack who’s too attached to his floor to move away from it. “What the actual–Nope. Fuck. My head,” Shitty moans, clutching the offending body part.

Bitty sighs. “Lemme get you two some water.”

As Bitty’s filling up glasses in the kitchen, Shitty slumps back to the floor.

“What the fuck, man.” Jack assumes Shitty is trying to whisper. “I thought the heartbreak was because Bitty left you or something. Why the–How come–Ow, my head is pounding and everything is spinning. God, I knew there was a reason that whiskey has been sitting in my cupboard so long.”

Jack rolls over on top of Shitty and pets his face. “Shits. _No_. Bitty didn’t break up with me. He’d never do that.”

“Jack’s right,” Bitty chimes from the kitchen.

“See?” Jack smiles at Shitty and kisses him on the forehead before rolling off again. “All good, eh.”

“Then why the heart-break!!” Shitty groans. “Why the phone call?!”

Bitty laughs at Shitty’s outburst.

“What!? What?” Shitty whines.

Bitty brings the glasses of water over to the coffee table then holds out a hand each to Jack and Shitty. Jack lets himself get pulled up to a sitting position and kisses Bitty’s hand for his help.

“Jack’s a little miffed about something that happened on the show we were watching,” Bitty tells Shitty, sitting in front of them on the couch. He slides his gaze to Jack and adds, _“Three nights ago_.”

Shitty punches Jack on the arm but because he’s drunk it lands softly.

“What?” Jack shrugs at Shitty. “Sandy was my favourite.”


	4. Flight Cancelled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: This one is not so fluffy. But read to the bottom and you'll get an alternate ending that makes up for it!

Bitty feels like crying. His throat hurts and his eyes are watering and every time he breathes it’s this little _hic-hic_ shake of air into him. He’s surrounded by strangers, exhausted from traveling and miserable.

Cancelled. Cancelled. Delayed. Cancelled. Cancelled. Cancelled. 

He takes a deep breath. _Hic-hic-gasp_. The person beside him shoots him a worried look.

“Do you want a tissue?” she offers.

Bitty shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

They both know he’s not.

He can’t deal with the ‘what’s next’ yet. He makes his way morose through the people in this airport, scanning for a place to sit. His feet drag and he’s losing the battle with holding his tears at bay.

He finds a chair in the corner of a random departure lounge that faces the wall. He sits and clutches his backpack to his chest and shoves his face into it as tears of frustration finally fall. He gives himself a minute to feel shit. Hopeless and defeated. He doesn’t think he breathes at all in that time, worried to draw attention to himself with the _hic-hic-gasp_ it would be.

Minute over, he pulls his phone from his pocket and opens it up. Jack’s face smiles at him from his home screen.

“I’m sorry,” he tells Jack. Looks like he won’t be there for Christmas after all. Not that Jack was expecting him. It was meant to be a surprise.

He stares at the screen until it blacks itself out and Bitty’s left looking at his reflection–tired eyes, flat hair, a frown.

He calls Jack. He needs comfort, needs Jack’s voice. The phone goes straight to voicemail but Bitty doesn’t bother leaving a message. He not sure he’d be able to. He may start crying again. God, how he wishes he weren’t alone right now. He’s still not ready to deal with what to do about his flight being cancelled. He needs to arrange another flight, accommodation overnight if it’s going to be a long wait, make sure his luggage is going to get where it needs to be. Just thinking about it makes him press his lips together tight as fresh tears threaten.

He lights up his phone screen again to see Jack’s face. He tries calling again, pressing the phone tight to his ear to hear the ringing. It’s getting noisy in the area he’s sitting in as more stranded travelers settle in for a long wait.

Voice mail again. This time he leaves a message. “Jack. Hey. Hi. I… can you call? Please. I want…” He hangs up and drops his head back into his backpack. It’s stiff and uncomfortable, the zipper digging into his cheek. Bitty doesn’t move.

He dozes for a bit, worn-out from his near full day of travel already, waking when his phone buzzes in his hand. He squints at the screen, vision blurry from the sleep. Jack’s face looks back at him.

“Jack?” Bitty answers hopefully. His chest hurts from holding itself tight.

“Hey bud. What’s going on? Are you alright?”

Bitty smiles at Jack’s voice. It sounds like hugging him feels. Warm and substantial and full of love. “I miss you,” he tells Jack, voice cracking.

“Me too,” Jack agrees straight away. “Is that what the call was about?” he asks softly.

“A little.”

“I’m–You made me worry,” Jack tells him.

“I’m sorry, honey.”

“No. It’s alright. It’s a privilege to get to worry about you.”

Bitty smiles again. Jack says the strangest, sweetest things sometimes.

“I know we said we didn’t need to spend Christmas together this year,” Bitty begins, “that it was too hard with our family commitments and–Anyway.”

“You think we made the wrong call?” Jack asks.

“Not wrong, just…”

“Not right?” Jack suggests.

“Yeah.”

Jack hums on the phone. “I agree.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. I… Honestly? I’ve done something ridiculous.”

Bitty frowns, worried. “What did you do, honey?”

“Hopped on a plane to you.”

Bitty’s jaw drops and then he laughs and laughs and can’t stop. It feels amazing to do it though so he doesn’t care if he’s annoying the people around him. “You jumped on a plane?” Bitty gasps through his laughter.

“Yeah. I did. That’s why I missed your first calls. I was still in the air,” Jack explains.

“Oh my lord. Oh, Jack. Oh no,” Bitty exclaims, waiting for his laughter to subside. “Are you stuck in an airport? Flights are being cancelled.”

“Yeah. I am. I’m sorry, Bits.”

“It’s alright. It’s actually really, really alright. I’m–Me too.”

“You too what?”

“I’m stuck in an airport too.”

“But I thought…”

“I was in Georgia with my folks?”

“Yeah.”

“I was. I missed you. I wasn’t having fun. I… I ‘hopped on a plane’.”

Bitty laughs again at how outlandish the situation is. Jack meant to be in Providence, Bitty meant to be in Georgia, both in airports somewhere far away from those places and each other. 

Not at the same airport. “That would be too much of a perfect coincidence,” Jack says, “but a Christmas we’ll never forget, eh.”

 

**the choose-your-own-adventure alternate cheesy ending**

“Yeah. I did. That’s why I missed your first calls. I was still in the air,” Jack explains.

“Oh my lord. Oh, Jack. Oh no,” Bitty exclaims, waiting for his laughter to subside. “Are you stuck in an airport? Flights are being cancelled.”

“Yeah. I am. I’m sorry, Bits.”

“It’s alright. It’s actually really, really alright. I’m–Me too.”

“You too what?”

“I’m stuck in an airport too.”

“But I thought…”

“I was in Georgia with my folks?”

“Yeah.”

“I was. I missed you. I wasn’t having fun. I… I ‘hopped on a plane’.”

Bitty laughs again at how outlandish the situation is. Jack meant to be in Providence, Bitty meant to be in Georgia, both in airports somewhere far away from those places and each other. 

“I don’t suppose you’re at JFK, eh?”

Bitty’s stomach drops. “What? Say that again.”

“I don’t suppose you’re at JFK?”

“Jack, Jack. Shit. Jack.” Bitty grabs his backpack and turns around, scanning the people in his lounge. He hurries out of the area and into the main corridor which winds itself around the airport. “Where are you?”

“I just–At the airport. Why? What’s going on?”

“No, no,” Bitty says frantically, walking fast past glum travelers and stressed flight attendants, his heartbeat going crazy. “ _Specifics_. Jack.”

“Uh, Gate 12. By the vending machine.”

Bitty glances at the sign above his head and spins on his heel, beginning to jog back the way he came. He passes gates 24 and 23, then 22 and 21, then he’s at a food court. He almost collides with a group of school kids swarming around the water fountain but leaps over the suitcase that gets in his way, phone still clutched to his ear and backpack banging against his legs since he never took the time to put it on properly.

“I can’t believe–What are the chances,”’ he says to himself as he passes gates 20 to 17. The crowds of people are thick with no planes leaving and several times he brushes into people, apologising as he goes, but he’s incapable of slowing down or stopping.

“What’s happening, Bits?” Jack asks.

“The best thing, Jack. Are you still at gate 12?”

Bitty passes by gate 16, 15. He’s been smiling already but it grows bigger now. He’s so close. He barely remembers the defeat he was feeling earlier. There’s no room in him for it alongside his joy.

“Yeah. I am. Why?”

“Go out into the walkway.”

“Why?”

Bitty sees Jack step out. He’d recognise those shoulders anywhere, that hair, the shirt Bitty picked out for Jacks’ last birthday.

“Because I want to kiss you,” Bitty tells Jack.

“What do you mean?” Jack’s got his back to Bitty. “How can–” Jack turns as he’s speaking and Bitty feels it in his gut when Jack spots him.

“Holy shit. Is that-?”

Bitty nods and laughs. “Yes.”

Jack starts moving toward Bitty, walking first, then jogging. They’re getting so close and Bitty can’t take his eyes off Jack. Lord, he’s missed him. He thought he was going to be spending Christmas alone, stranded at the airport, but here he is, running toward his boyfriend, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. He drops his backpack when he’s close enough and crashes hard into Jack, who lifts him and spins him and laughs into his hair. Bitty clutches onto Jack’s shirt to make sure that this is real, not some fantasy, that he’s not still asleep. It’s so real. Jack’s arms are strong around him and his lips when Bitty kisses them are soft and full. He fills his nose with the scent of Jack and buries his fingers in Jack’s hair and presses their chests together to feel Jack’s racing heart.

People talk and move around them but Bitty pays them no mind. He’s kissing his boyfriend, and though far from it, he feels at home–his Christmas wish come true.


	5. Blanket Fort

“This really does seem like a lot of hooplah,” Bitty tells Jack again as the blanket he’s been supporting falls onto his head.

“It’ll be worth it. Promise,” Jack shouts from outside the clutches of the heavy cloth. He’s supposedly working on securing the blankets in place but Bitty could swear otherwise.

“Are you sure we can’t just sit on the couch like we normally do?”

“It’s Christmas, Bits! It’s tradition!”

“Yeah. _Your_ tradition. Not mine.” Bitty holds the blankets off his face. He prefers traditions like nutmeg in hot chocolate and making gingerbread houses, not 20 minutes of set up to watch a holiday movie that Jack’s keen on.

“I’m indoctrinating you,” Jack tells Bitty happily.

“You’re suffocating me.”

“Part of the tradition,” Jack responds.

“Doubtful,” Bitty mutters beneath his breath, hitching the blankets up higher so when he lets go they won’t brush his head. “How’s it going?”

“Done,” Jack says, head popping into the blanket fort from the opening he’d left. “You can let go now.”

“Can I?” Bitty half-teases, though a part of him is actually unsure.

Jack laughs and eases Bitty’s hands down himself. Bitty eyes the blanket worriedly but it stays in place. He looks to Jack, still smiling with obvious enjoyment. Bitty sighs out and settles into the moment. If he can’t enjoy the stuffy air and confined space, he can at least enjoy how exciting Jack is finding this. He kisses his boyfriend and leans himself into Jack’s side, resting his head on Jack’s shoulders.

“Remind me what the movie’s called again?” Bitty asks, reaching for the bowl of caramel popcorn he’d made earlier. 

Instead of replying, Jack lowers his head down to kiss Bitty long enough to make him light-headed and his skin prickly. Then Jack presses play on his laptop.

‘Jack x Bitty’, the title card reads. ‘A Year in Review’.

“This is not a Christmas film,” Bitty chastises Jack, slapping him lightly on his thigh with caramel-sticky fingers.

“It’s better,” Jack whispers into Bitty’s temple, tightening his arm around Bitty’s shoulders.

It is better than what Bitty was expecting. It’s a photo montage of the past year, with dozens of photos and videos from his and Jack’s life together. Mundane photos of them lounging around Jack’s apartment, photos of their trip to Alaska, short videos from parties with friends, yet more photos of them in Jack’s apartment–cooking in the kitchen, reading together on the couch, attempting to play pool. Bitty in Jack’s bed, fast asleep with Senor Bun on his chest. Bitty knew Jack liked taking photos but seeing them all back to back is unexpectedly moving.

At the completion of the video, Jack removes the popcorn from Bitty’s slack hands.

“Well?” he asks. Soft and uncertain.

“That’s your family tradition?” Bitty asks, realising by the sound of his voice that he’s started crying.

Jack nods, cupping Bitty’s face gently in his palm. “Mum does one every year.”

“Well,” Bitty says, breathing deeply to steady himself. “That is a tradition I can get behind,” he tells Jack with total sincerity, leaning right up close to Jack so he can press their foreheads together.

“I’m glad.” Jack smiles at him and kisses him softly. It’s still enough to make Bitty light headed and his skin tingle.


	6. Kitchen Mishaps

“Must be a Sunday,” Bitty says as he holds the paper towel to Jack’s finger.

“Huh?”

“Must be a Sunday. It’s a saying we had back home.”

“In Georgia?”

“No, home like house. Me and my folks.”

“It _is_ Sunday,” Jack says, eyebrows drawing down. “How is that a saying?”

Bitty laughs at his sweet, confused face. “It doesn’t mean _literally_ Sunday. It’s just, almost every Sunday Coach would find a way to cut his fingers while he was cooking.” Bitty takes the paper towel away to check the cut, throwing the bloodied sheet into the bin.

“So if it happened,” Bitty continues to explain, wrapping a bandaid snug on Jack’s finger, “me and Mama would roll eyes at each other and go ‘Oh, must be Sunday’.”

Bitty kisses Jack’s finger then throws the bandaid wrapper in the bin and washes his hands.

“I still don’t get why you said it,” Jack says, following Bitty to the sink.

Bitty hums and raises his eyebrows.

“I mean, I don’t cut myself every Sunday. So why say it?”

Bitty cocks his head at Jack. “Honey, you kinda do, though, is the thing.”

Jack shakes his head. “No I don’t.”

Bitty dries his hands on a tea towel and hangs it back up. He leans on the counter top across from Jack.

“Yes, you do,” he says.

Jack’s eyebrows draw down into his confused face again so Bitty helps him out.

“Last weekend–”

“I was out,” Jack says immediately.

“But the weekend before, you were prepping vegetables for the roast and you–”

“Cut my finger. Right. That’s still only twice,” Jack rushes to say.

“Okay.” Bitty thinks for moment but doesn’t have to spend long bringing an example to mind. “How about the time you diced onions for my salmon quiche?”

“I was listening to a podcast. I was distracted, that can’t count.” Jack crosses his arms and narrows his eyes at Bitty.

“Oh yes it does!” Bitty exclaims, silently enjoying how competitive Jack is getting. “Then there were the mangoes for the fruit salad when the guys came over a few Sundays ago,” Bitty puts a finger up. “The time we babysat Thirdy’s kid and you were cutting the crusts off and got blood on the sandwich,” Bitty adds another finger. “Then somehow you managed to cut yourself when you were slicing up bananas for me–though I remember telling you you only needed a butter knife for that. That was a Sunday too.” 

Bitty’s getting ready to put up another finger but Jack lunges across the space between them and wraps his hands around Bitty’s so he can’t.

“Alright, alright,” he says. “I get it. _Must be a Sunday_ ,” Jack says glumly.

“Oh Jack.” Bitty steps in to his boyfriend so he can wrap his free arm around Jack’s back. “It’s not bad. It’s… another little _Jack-ism_ that I love about you.”

Jack sighs and Bitty can feel him relax beneath Bitty’s hand. “Every Sunday. I can’t believe… I should probably try and stop, eh?”

Bitty shrugs. “If you want.”

“Do you want me to?” Jack asks, gaze on Bitty.

“Well, I can’t say I like it when you hurt yourself. But… compared to hockey injuries… Well, I can always have bandaids and disinfectant ready for this.”

Jack hums in agreement. “You take good care of me, Bits.”

Bitty flushes warm and drops his gaze to Jack’s chest. “I try.”

“No.” Jack lifts Bitty’s chin with his bandaid-wrapped finger. “You do,” he says softly, smiling at Bitty. “It’s one of your–what did you use– _Eric-isms_. I love it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wo! You made it. Thanks for reading them all :) As always, find me on [tumblr](http://17piesinseptember.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)  
> Find more of my work on [tumblr](http://17piesinseptember.tumblr.com/)


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